Lord, of your mercy, please help me to endure and abide

rants of that obfuscating poser, called Thornin Myside.

I pray you let that Elder Poet, Alexander Pope,

teach me the verse forms which with Thornin Myside cannot cope.
One line collapses his whole unoriginality,

his unrefined, uncultured, and unbounded jealousy;

out of a pettiful dispute that started casually

with inappropriate remarks made from discourtesy;

and all that could have been smoothed off with one apology.







Author's Notes/Comments: 

Thornin Myside is, of course, a fictive composite; and for his provenance and function, I refer the reader to my poem, "To Disapproving Readers."  Any resemblance of this character to any person, living, dead, or dead in the mind among the living, is impurely coincidental, and most likely a figment of imagination.  

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